Re: Antique Store: Louis/Sparrow
"I have all the material things I need," she said truthfully, candor in the nothing of her grey eyes. "It's not really generosity. I just want to get the things where they belong." Which, perhaps, was saying too much. There was too much in the words that wasn't normal, but she was terrible at walking the line of too strange and not strange enough, and she tended to spill over truths upon herself, even if it was dangerous to do so. Luckily, there was the protection of the Carnival, and freaks clung together, stuck tight, and they protected each other. The ringleted blonde felt safe, even as unsafe words tumbled from her lips, and she smiled at him with ball-joint sweetness.
But there was a problem. "I don't know the addresses. Only the names, but they're here in town, so you can find them, can't you?" This wasn't a big city. She'd driven through big cities, and she'd seen them from windows on buses and trains, and finding someone in those places would be hard. But here, here it was easy, and she looked at him hopefully, grey eyes bright with trust in his ability to help the items find their way home.
The prayer book appeared, and she didn't touch it. No fingertips upon its locked cover, no touch to its spine. He offered to enclose a note, and she tipped milk and honey head, the scent coming off curls and clinging close. "Merci. Yes. It needs to go to Luke H. I think Evie lives in the houses, but Luke is probably in the motel or the trailer park." Her eyes went hazy, disoriented, and then her smile returned, sun from behind storm clouds. "Try the motel, and please don't enclose my name."
She looked down at the book a little longer. Longer yet, longer, and then she stepped away and pulled money from pocket and set it upon the counter. She didn't count the bills, nor did she unfold them, and the smelled of flowers and trailer and heater run long in winter clung to the creased paper. Her smile lingered, and she thought perhaps he would have questions. Slow, she turned, twirled, as if she wanted to give the shop a passing look, one that was long and slow and unhurried. She liked it here, amid this dust, and she wondered after the man who would take all these under his wing and into his care.
Turn completed, she looked at him, her eyes older than they ought to be, and her face too young for the understanding there. "It must be hard, being caretaker to all these things."